


If I should stumble, catch my fall

by Sevi007



Series: Little, broken, but still good [2]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Awkward bonding, Family feelings, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kid Peter, slight spoiler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 12:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11440845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sevi007/pseuds/Sevi007
Summary: When his mother had been with him, Peter had always felt like he could do everything and anything. He could fly for her, reach the stars for her, and he never even would have worried, because even if he should fall, she would be there to catch him. But now, Mum isn’t there anymore… and someone else will have to catch Peter’s fall.





	1. Falling

_I'm just a boy but I will win, yeah_

_Lost songs of lovers fellow travelers, yeah_

_Leave me sad and hollow out of words_

_It could happen to you_

_So think for yourself:_

_If I should stumble_

_Catch my fall, yeah_

_If I should stumble_

_Catch my fall_

_-_

**_“Catch my fall” by Billy Idol_ **

 

 

 

The scent of disinfectant tickled Peter’s nose as the little Terran pressed his face basically flat against the glass vitrine, peering at his faint reflection and making faces at it.

 

When not even that made him smile, he sighed deeply, his breath fogging the glass.

 

Behind him, there was still grumbling to be heard – an unfamiliar voice growled something that Peter couldn’t catch, and Yondu’s answer was quick and flippant, underlying threat in the words only audible to those who knew him well enough.

 

Peter, well… he didn’t knew the Ravager’s Captain that well, despite the year he had spent with them now, but he _did_ now that this was one of those deals were the adults would talk and talk and talk, and in the meantime, Peter would slowly die of boredom.

 

Grumbling to himself, considering for a moment to kick the vitrine in his frustration, Peter swiveled around, pirouetting around himself to stalk back to another display. He had seen all of them since coming in here, soaking up the sight of whatever new merchandise the Broker had in his exhibition, but by now, even that was becoming boring as hell.

 

Normally, when they visited the Broker’s shop, things didn’t take too long. Yondu would march in, Kraglin and Horuz trailing close behind, and hand over whatever thing they had (illegally) gotten hold off to the skittish, polite little man behind the counter. Very rarely, there would be a short discussion over the price – _“Ya try’n tell me that’s not worth_ more?” – but normally, one little tilt of the head from Yondu and Kraglin and Horuz shifting a bit closer, shoulders squaring, would make the Broker shut up very quickly and agree to everything and anything the Ravager Captain requested of him.

 

In the meantime, Peter would dart from one showcase to the other, pressing his nose against the bulletproof glass to get a good look at the things inside. Glittering jewels, dusty pieces of long-outdated machines, seemingly meaningless little cute things – there was a lot to be seen in the Broker’s shop, pawns from people who needed quick money and pieces that mercenaries like the Ravagers had picked up. One way or the other, the Broker collected those things, left them waiting for a new owner who would pay a horrendous price for them.

 

Ones or twice, Peter had even spotted things that he knew from Earth. He fondly remembered that one time, after his first successful theft, where Yondu had easily talked the Broker into giving him a little toy in form of a tiny racing car.

 

 _“Ya go ‘head and keep bein’ an useful lil’ thief, Quill,”_ Yondu had reminded him as he had handed the toy over, pulling it away from Peter’s grasping hands teasingly a few times until he had the boy’s full attention. “ _Ya ain’t, I’m gonna let the boys eat’cha.”_

Peter had bared his teeth then, making the Ravager laugh that barking, hoarse laugh of his.

 

(Even after the time he had spent with the crew, Peter _still_ wasn’t completely convinced that the threat wasn’t meant seriously – because, honestly, a few of the Ravagers did look like they could and would eat a tiny Terran given the chance. But he wouldn’t let Yondu see that tiny fear. He would lift his chin and snap right back at such threats, like the men had taught him.)

 

All in all, the Broker’s shop was a rather interesting place to be most of the times they came here, and there were times when Peter actually enjoyed the stay here.

 

But sometimes, there were times like _this,_ when the person the Broker worked for this time around would be in the shop, too, and things would get more complicated.

 

Peter didn’t like those times. Not only could those meetings take up _hours,_ but he also wasn’t allowed to make too much noise during it, because it could be distracting.

Pffft, _distracting_. The adults weren’t doing anything more than exchanging quips, barely covered up threats and demands for what they believed to be a good outcome for them. It wasn’t like he could really distract them from such boring stuff. If anything, he would make their day more _interesting._

 

Sighing again, Peter chanced a glance over to Tullk. The man was leaning casually against the wall next to the shop’s door, arms crossed and a yawn almost splitting his face just when the child looked over.

Tullk didn’t seem that interested or happy about being here, either. Well, he was only here to keep an eye on Peter, anyway. Yondu never took more than two people with him to Xandar, except those times when Peter was there with them, too.

 

Which was stupid, Peter thought with a pout. He didn’t need a babysitter – he was almost _nine,_ he was basically a _grown-up_ already – and there was absolutely nothing here that could endanger him. Apart from the absolutely deathly boredom, of course.

 

It was time to do something against that.

 

A quick check - Yondu was still caught up in an argument with the customer, a giant of a man, almost two times the size of Yondu himself. Kraglin and Horuz were busy being the kind of silent, threatening backup they were expected to be.

They wouldn’t even notice if he were gone.

 

Peter used his chance and darted over to Tullk, tugging at the man’s jacket as he hissed, “Hey, Tullk. Tullk!”

“Wha’s it, Pete?” Tullk shifted, hand reaching over to ruffle Peter’s hair.

The boy spluttered, patting his hair back down and trying to escape the playful hand trying to ruin it again. “Can I – no, stop that, geez – can I go outside? I’m bored.”

 

Tullk’s grin wavered, and he scrunched up his nose as he scratched his chin, obviously thinking very hard. “Uh, no sure, Petey. Capt’n wouldn’t be happy ‘bout that.”

“But Yondu is _busy._ He won’t even _notice_ when I go outside a bit. Please?” Peter rarely said please anymore, not around the Ravagers, not when they had taught him to take what he wanted with quick and nimble fingers and how to cuss like a master when things didn’t go his way. “I will just go look around a bit, and then come back.”

“Geez, Pete, really ain’t sure… I can’t just leave, n’ I shouldn’t let’cha run around alone…”

 

“But I’m so _bored,_ Tullk. And we’re on Xandar – nothing will happen here, anyway. _Come on._ Please? _”_

Peter knew that whining wouldn’t work with most of the Ravagers. Whining, crying and yapping would even annoy and anger most of them, Yondu included. That would have been counterproductive.

Some of them though, like Tullk, actually felt bad for Peter if he hit _just_ the right pitch of voice and looked at them with big, hopeful eyes.

 

That proved true as Tullk ran a hand through his hair, grimaced, tried to look away from Peter’s pleading gaze and couldn’t, before he finally sighed. “’kay, ‘kay, I get it. I guess if ye don’ ran away too far then…”

“Awesome!” Peter made for a dash towards the door, only to be held back by a hand grabbing his collar, Tullk snapping, “’ey, ’ey, wait up!”

“What?!”

 

“Listen up, Pete, ‘kay? Listen,” Tullk glanced over to where Yondu was still arguing with the broker and that other guy, back turned towards them. After ensuring that the Captain wasn’t paying attention to them, Tullk continued with a lower voice, “Ye don’ walk away too far, ye don’ steal stuff without us havin’ yer back, and if there’s trouble, ye ran straight back here. Got it?”

“I _get_ it, Tullk”, Peter rolled his eyes. “Seriously, you always tell me that as soon as…”

“Whoa, ‘ey bud, I just wanna make sure Capt’n ain’t gonna rip me in pieces when ye get hurt ‘cuz I let’cha ran loose. I like to be in _one_ piece, mind ye.”

 

“As if he _would,”_ Peter’s eye-rolling only intensified. Sure, Yondu would lose a scrawny useful thief should something happen to Peter, but he could _bear_ that little loss.

Tullk didn’t look very convinced by that, and Peter stuck his tongue out, huffing quietly, before swearing solemnly with his hand pressed to his heart, “I will be _super-duper_ careful and not get into trouble.”

 

Slowly, like releasing a wild animal, Tullk let go, even though his eyebrows were still reaching his hairline. “Tha’s as good as I’ll get, eh? ‘kay, run off before I can think ‘gain. But if Capt’n asks, boy, it’s all _yer_ fault. Ye tricked me, sneaked out, tha’ s it, I ain’t go nothin’ to do with it.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s all my fault. One hundred percent. Like usual,” Peter assured with a thin smile, already slinking towards the closed door.

 

Tullk obediently positioned himself such that he would block to view towards the door, and Peter used all the sneaking-skills he had been taught in the last year or so to open the door completely silently and to sneak out before it fell closed behind him again.

 

Once outside, he was greeted by the bright sunlight and the animated chattering of Xandar.

 

Peter stopped dead in his tracks, flinging his arms out wide and tipping his head back to suck in a deep, relieved breath.

 

This was amazing, especially after having spent the last weeks on the _Eclector_ , without any sunlight whatsoever. Sure, the artificial light could look nearly the same as the sun, if it were calibrated right, but it still wasn’t the same as the feeling of sunbeams warming your skin while you could take deep breathes of fresh air.

Not to mention all the _things_ that could be seen here.

 

Running off at high-speed, Peter turned around the shop and ran down the street behind it. First get a good distance between himself and the others. There was still a tiny chance that they would notice his absence and not be happy about it.

 

Once he was sure that he had gotten quite a distance between himself and the shop, Peter slowed down, sauntering along instead of running. Now he could give himself the time to look around and drink in what he saw.

 

Xandar, Peter had quickly discovered, was a place full of different people and cultures, so there was always a lot to see. There were different species – Krylorianer and Xandarianer, Peter could recognize, but there were others, too, some humanoid, some very clearly not.

 

Most of them were… well, the complete opposite of what Peter was used to. People here were quieter, more at ease than a ship full of Ravager ever could be. Peter saw a lot of smiling faces as he went, people chattering and laughing without a care in the world. Nobody felt as if they had to watch their backs here. They were _careless._

 

It was tempting, sometimes. Peter caught glimpses of wristbands, glinting in silver and gold, which hung loosely around a wrist. A wallet, not pushed deep enough into a pocket, all but ready for the taking.

One quick step to the side, a flick of the wrist, a short excuse perhaps, and Peter could have taken those, easy as a child’s play. He could have brought it back and offered it to Yondu, sort of as a peace offering should the Captain be angry about his short absence.

 

But that didn’t feel right, Peter concluded, dodging a man hastening past him, his fancy wristwatch ripe for taking. Stealing from the Ravagers and stealing from people dealing with the Ravagers was one thing, but stealing from unsuspecting, normal citizen… that was a whole other thing.

 

Deciding to give a wide berth to all the tempting opportunities, Peter forewent the open plazas full of people and the narrow alleys. Instead he aimed for the green spaces scattered all over the giant city, following a curved bridge over one of the plazas to reach what seemed to be a little park.

 

It had been so _long_ since he had something even faintly resembling a park… the last few planets he had been allowed to visit with Yondu and the others had been wastelands or planets completely covered in cities and industrial areas. Not much greenery to be seen there, if anything at all.

 

Upon reaching the park, Peter grinned from ear to ear as he caught sight of what seemed to be a playground.

_Jackpot._

He hadn’t seen something even remotely close to a playground since being kidnapped from Terra. There was something nostalgic about these places, with their swings and slides…

 

Peter stopped walking, drowning in memories of home. There had been a playground close to his school, back home. An old thing with only a set of swings and a slide, rusty from age, but he still had looked forward to those times when Mum would pick him up from school and go to the playground with him. He would climb onto the swing as soon as he reached it, swinging up as high as he could while Mum waited back on the ground, and he would swing higher and higher to reach the sky.

 

_“Mum! Mum, look how high I am!”_

 

“Hey!”

Startled, Peter jumped, involuntarily brushing something with his foot.

 

A ball, he realized as he looked down. It had landed right in front of his feet, without him even noticing.

 

“Yes, you! Throw it back, okay?”

 

Peter blinked, looking around first, then towards the person who had called – a Krylorian girl, looking approximately his own age, standing in a group of other children, all of them looking over towards him.

She waved at Peter as she caught his gaze, and still he asked, rather stupidly in his disorientation, “What, me?”

“Sure, who else?” She laughed then, clearly amused by his confusion.

 

Well, it was just a ball. He should just… throw it back and be done with it. That would probably be the best thing.

Ducking down, Peter picked up the toy, holding it gingerly between his hands. It was almost the exact same size as a football back on Earth, and in a bright green color.

 

Images flashed through before his inner eye, blurred and faded memories of hours spent running after a ball, kicking it clumsily, cheering loudly alongside his beaming Grandpa when one of them managed to score a point, followed by Grandpa lifting him up, swinging him through the air while they laughed until they could barely breath, and Mum would call them back to the house to have them drink something before they got parched from their playing…

 

Blinking, swallowing down whatever emotions just threatened to boil over, Peter forced a smile on his face, lifting up the ball over his head as he called out:

 

“You have space for one more player?”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ G ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The game, Peter found out rather quickly, wasn’t football.

The reason for that, very likely, was the fact that some aliens probably didn’t even _have_ what other species would call feet, which made it rather logical to _not_ play football.

 

It still was a bit confusing for Peter when everyone just hit the ball with everything they had, be it head, hands, feet, tentacles or tails, but if anything that only served to make the game all the more fun. In no time at all, Peter found himself running after the ball while laughing loudly, cheering when they managed to score a point, and booing while _still_ laughing when the other team scored.

 

Sometimes Peter had to hold himself back, to remember that this weren’t Ravagers he was playing with, but children. Once or twice, he almost tripped someone, or shoved them aside, things he would have done when managing to get Kraglin or Tullk or Oblo to play with him, but every time he caught himself in the last second and hastened to play fair again.

 

(He never even paused a second to question just how much the Ravagers’s habits had already started to rub off on him.)

 

Time flew as they played, and Peter, for the first time in a very long time, felt like a child again. Not a little thief, not a nuisance to be watched over, not a little Ravager to be groomed. Just a child, laughing and playing.

 

It ended way too quickly.

 

One moment, Peter was cheering alongside his team, a mix of children of all ages and species whom he hadn’t bothered to learn all the names off, and the next moment, the group just seemed to disband around him, chattering animatedly as they walked towards the entry of the playground.

 

“What?” Peter was still smiling widely, a tad breathless from running around for what felt like hours. He bent forward, trying to catch his breath as he asked, “You’re already going?”

“It’s dinner time,” the Krylorian girl that had first spoken to him told him, laughing as if he had just made a joke. “And my mother is here to pick me up.”

 

“Oh…” to be quite honest, Peter hadn’t even realized that the sun was going down already. He had spent way more time here than he had intended.

For a second, he felt worry surge through him. Yondu wouldn’t be too happy when he had been gone for too long…

 

_As if he would care. Right?_

“My Ma is here!”

“Dad! I’m over here!”

 

The group of children disbanded quickly as most of their parents, at least one parent for each, showed up at the entry to the playground, waving towards them. The children scrambled to pack their things, picking up toys and saying goodbye left and right. There were offers made - _“You want to come over for dinner?”_ – or promises to see each other again tomorrow.

 

Peter stood, a bit forlorn, as he was suddenly the last one left on the playground. There was no one at the entry for him.

 

The girl stopped one last time, although her mother was waiting for her. She looked back at Peter, insecure.

“You, uh…,” she trailed off, wringing her hands as she looked from the Terran back to her waiting mother. “You’re going to be picked up, too, right?”

 

The question alone almost made Peter bark out a bitter laugh. As if. None of the Ravagers would come look for him… well, perhaps they would. It wasn’t highly likely, but there was this _tiny_ chance that they would miss a useful thief. But even if they came, it wouldn’t be to “pick him up”, but to drag him back to the ship and yell at him for making them wait.

 

But it wasn’t like he could tell her that. So Peter managed a rather convincing smile and assured, “Yeah, sure. They will… be here any moment now. Probably running a bit late, you know?”

She smiled, then, clearly relieved. And suddenly he wished he had at least asked her for her name, so that he could now tell her goodbye.

“Okay, then… it was really fun. Bye!”

“Yeah. Bye.”

 

Peter waved after her weakly, even when she had long since turned her back towards him. He could still hear her cheerful voice as she reached her mother.

 

“Mama, I had lots of fun today!”

“That’s great to hear, sweetie. I want to hear everything, okay?”

 

Staying where he was, forgotten and the last one on the playground, Peter could barely make out in the dark when the girl’s hand slipped into that of her mother’s, their finger intertwining easily as they kept walking.

 

Peter’s smile fell, washed away by the sudden wave of cold that filled his chest with a hollow pain.

 

_“Peter, hold my hand.”_

A shiver ran down the Peter’s spine, and he bit his lip, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the lump that started to form in his throat. Instead he turned his back on the retreating families, walking back to the swing while he dug in his pocket for his Walkman.

 

Now with the other children gone, he told himself, trying to see the silver lining, he had the swing all to himself.

 

Taking a seat on the swing was easier than he remembered, and it made him grin. He had grown quite a bit since the last time! He could easily swing himself up to take a seat, and that he did.

Once seated, Peter dug through the various pockets hidden in his leather jacket until he found his treasure.

 

Slipping the headphones into place, Peter pressed the play button on the Walkman, expecting the music to start on “ _Spirit in the Sky”._

But it didn’t come. The Walkman stayed eerily silent. No buzzing or whirring, no music.

 

“Oooh no, no, _no,”_ Peter murmured, gestures growing frantic as he started hitting various buttons over and over again. Not that it helped. Whatever button he pressed, the gadget just wouldn’t come to life.

_“Flark!”_

The curse went unheard, but it was something to let off some steam.

 

Empty batteries, Peter knew. Nothing unusual, seeing as he used the Walkman day in and day out, but it was still frustrating. Especially right now, where he was already close to an _edge,_ the lump in his throat and the burning in the corner of his eyes only growing stronger.

 

Anger and frustration bubbled up and he barked out an annoyed sound, no more than a snarl. He gave up on getting the Walkman to work and ripped the headphones off again. Instead he stared down at it for a moment, before stuffing it back into his pocket, all but curling up in the swing’s seat to sulk.

 

_And now?_

 

He could just go back to the broker’s shop, or straight to the ship. He even _should_ do that, since it was getting dark and Yondu was very likely already done with his deal and would want to get back home. And no matter how often the Ravagers insisted that Peter was partly an annoying little thief and partly emergency provisions, Peter still _knew_ that they expected him to come back with them. That they would wait for him to come back, even. Making them wait for him would just put him on some kind of nasty, dirty duty again for punishment. Like cleaning the toilets. Ewww.

 

But he didn’t _want_ to go back. Not right now, he decided, swinging forward a little, then back with a bit more force.

One round on the swing, in memory of the fun times he had had with Mum once upon a time, and then he would go back. Just one round. More wouldn’t be fun without music, but one round he would do.

 

The first kick of his legs didn’t take him very far, but Peter still vividly remembered how to do it right, how to lean back and then forwards again just at the right time, how to get the most out of each back-and-forth swing. Within no time, he was soaring up towards the darkening sky, air swishing past him and gravity losing its grip on him.

 

And Peter laughed then, loud and cheerful, even as first tears gathered in the corner of his eyes, drying under the wind.

He felt free like he hadn’t for a long time, even as his chest constricted.

 

It felt just like back home. When he closed his eyes and remembered hard enough, then he could almost see her… and close his eyes he did, remembering as well as he could.

 

His Mum standing there, laughing up at him. Mum, just like she had been _back then._

 

Back then when she still had been healthy. Back then _before_ she had started to have headaches, had started to get sick all of sudden.

Back then _before_ all her hair had fallen out, hair the same color as Peter’s. (He remembered her laughing as Peter had gingerly touched her head, the naked skin there. _“It’s just hair, Peter. You will see, it will grow back once I’m better.”)_

Back then when her eyes had been so full of life and laughter, not full of pain and exhaustion.

Back then, when she stood there in front of the swing, cheering for him as he laughed in triumph, calling out to him…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ G ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

_… The air was whooshing past him, cooling his heated face – heated by laughter and exertion, but Peter didn’t care, he was laughing and laughing, legs kicking once again so that he could swing up even higher, arms and hands burning under his firm grip even as he cheered,_

 

_“Mum! Mum, look how high I am!”_

_Mum’s laughter danced in the wind, ringing like bells. “You’re almost reaching the sky, little Star Lord!”_

_Her laughter was everything to him, and he would do anything to hear it again. “I can go even higher! I can reach the stars, Mum!”_

_“Of course you can! You can do everything!”_

Everything _, she said, and Peter firmly believed her, like he always did – for her he could reach the stars, for her he could fly…_

_… and if he did, he wouldn’t have to worry about the landing, because Mum would be there to catch him._

_“Peter!”…_

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ G ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“PETER!”

 

The sharp, loud bellow cut through the bright memories like a blastershot, and Peter’s eyes snapped open just as his sweaty, clammy hands slipped completely from the chains they had been holding onto. At the highest point of the swing’s arch, he slipped.

 

Everything seemed to slow down first. One moment, he registered his surroundings again ( _the playground, he was on the playground on Xandar, not in Missouri, and Mum was…_ ) then he noted dimly that he was leaving his seat on the swing, body catapulted forward by the force he had put into swinging as he lost his grip. He was flying first, then floating – and then everything speed up again as he fell.

 

Peter screamed then, a high, terrified sound bursting out of him as he flailed, flinging his arms up and down and left and right for _anything_ to hold on to. But he didn’t find anything. He was in mid-air, nothing to stop him from the fall that was to come - he was going to slam onto the ground, _hard,_ he was going to…

 

The impact was painful, but not as painful as he had expected. Peter smacked face-first against a wall, a living, breathing, solid wall just _there_ to catch him. He grunted, and the wall grunted too, and then there were strong arms wrapping around him to press him tighter against…

Oh. That wasn’t a wall.

That was a chest.

 

Peter clamped his mouth shut, scream cutting off as he whimpered soundlessly instead. The adrenaline pulsing through his vein made him jittery, breath bursting in and out of him in sharp puffs. Carefully, he raised his shivering hands and pressed them against the solid chest in front of him, as if to ensure that it was really there.

 

Someone said something, above him, words numbed by the blood still rushing through Peter’s ears. Other things registered better – the warmth seeping into him. The pressure of the arms around him – strong, secure, safe. The rough yet smooth glide of leather under his fingertips - the thrumming hammer of a quick heartbeat just beneath it. The smell of leather, plasma and something distinctly familiar.

 

“… and what the _flark_ were ya _thinkin’,_ boy?! _”_

The pieces clicked into place as the rough, ragged voice rang out above him, the buzzing sound in his ears finally subsiding.

 

“Yondu,” Peter whispered, breathed, fingers digging into the coat he was pressed against. “ _Yondu.”_

 

“Damn _right,_ that’s me,” the arms moved, one resting under Peter’s legs to hold him up as the other hand moved upwards, gripping the boy’s chin roughly to lift it up. A red gaze, flaring with _something_ , bored into Peter’s, crooked teeth glinting in the dim light as Yondu bared them in a snarl and repeated, “What were ya _thinkin’,_ goin’ flyin’ like that?! Ya coulda gotten yer neck broken, ya idjit!”

 

Peter returned the gaze, even though his own sight became blurry as he started to tear up. Fear, shock, and raw _pain_ made themselves known, cutting through him harsher than Yondu’s words ever could. Everything came rushing back – exhaustion from the day spent playing, painful-loved memories of Mum, the shock over almost falling and injuring himself…

 

Everything inside Peter screamed to go look for Mum and hide in her warm, welcoming embrace.

 

Mum could make all pain go away. He would press his face against her shoulder to hide from the world while she stroked his hair and sang to him and told him that it would be alright, everything would be okay.

 

But Mum wasn’t _here_ anymore. And it wasn’t going to be alright anymore. It hit Peter like a punch to the gut, the feeling fresh as if he had only now realized it…

 

But he hadn’t, he had already spent days, weeks, _months_ crying over what never could come back. There absolutely was _no_ reason that he felt like this now, because of a stupid playground reminding him of a summer day with Mum, with a stupid swing and a stupid fall and… and…

And there was no reason to remember all the things that he couldn’t have anymore.

 

No more hand-holding, no more picking up from the playground, no more embraces, no more laughter, no more singing their favorite songs together, no more sleeping in Mums bed, no more star-gazing together, no more dancing clumsily together until they fell down laughing, no more… no more…

 

“Mum,” the tears started to spill as he spoke, voice breaking over the words.

 

Perhaps later, Peter would hate himself for showing his weakness like that, to Yondu of all people, who would tease him over it, who would make fun of him for it, but right now, he didn’t care. He cried straight out, sniffling and sobbing as tears streamed down his cheeks. “I just… wanted Mum.”

 

_Wanted to think of her. Wanted to see her._

“I want my _Mum!”_

Peter yelled the last word, a ragged, sobbed shout as he broke down completely, pressing his face against the chest in front of him as he started crying for real, wetting the leather beneath him with his tears.

 

He was too caught up in his pain and his memories to notice the hesitant yet warm hand awkwardly coming to rest on his back after a moment. A soft, barely-touch to hold him, anchoring him as he shook and broke.


	2. Flying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is another flight, but without a fall, and Peter will probably never understand what's going on in Yondu's head.  
> And Yondu has to admit that it's probably less his head and more his heart that is involved here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ G ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

He didn’t know how long he had been crying. It all became a blur as he kept crying and yelling and screaming for his Mum, cursing the world, cursing the _thing_ that had killed her, taken her from him.

 

He was dimly aware that he had hit something, little fists pounding against the warm surface beneath him – blearily remembering one or two pained grunts, but lack of other protest he got for that.

 

It was all a blur of pain and tears and _Mum, I want my Mum, give me Mum back, please, please…!_

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, there were no more tears to be cried. Peter’s little sobs and hiccups came out dry, rasping over his abused throat with each breath, and his eyes burnt and stung, swollen puffy-red.

 

Peter sniffled, trying to breathe through his clogged nose, and instinctively curled further against the source of warmth next to him.

There, still hiccupping quietly to himself, Peter became aware for the first time of the quiet, steady whistling sounding just above him.

 

It was oddly comforting. Nowhere near as musical and beautiful as Mum’s singing, but with the same air of familiarity and safety to it. It made Peter think that things _could_ become okay again.

 

Reassured at least a bit by the soft tune, which sounded almost exactly like one of his favorites songs, Peter sniffled, hiccupped, and unfurled himself from the ball he had rolled himself into. His whole body ached as he sat up straighter, very, very gingerly, and rubbed his eyes to see something again.

 

He instantly wished he hadn’t done that, because the first thing he saw right in front of his nose was a leather-clad chest. The flame-badge and the distinct red leather clearly revealed it to be that of Yondu Udonta.

And Peter was all but cuddled against it, sitting on the man’s lap as he was.

 

Sitting on Yondu’s lap. Leaning against Yondu’s chest. Which meant… he had cried and beaten right against…

 

_Oh shit._

 

Very slowly, Peter gulped, and lifted his head to peer up at Yondu. He expected to see the usual anger there, only so, so much stronger. Any second now he would get yelled at, threatened or slapped or thrown to the ground for crying and basically beating the Ravager Captain while he had smeared snot and tears all over the beloved coat.

 

The whistling stopped, tune trailing off as Yondu noticed that Peter was coming to his senses again. The arrow was still circling lazily above the man’s head, fin and weapon glowing faintly red, providing a minimal light source. The swing Yondu had taken a seat on creaked faintly as he shifted, looking down at the boy in his lap.

 

The Captain’s expression was completely unreadable. None of the anger Peter had anticipated, not even irritation. Just this unreadable, blank expression.

Peter didn’t dare to say anything, not even to breathe too loudly. Each word could set Yondu off right now, he was sure of that. He had never seen Yondu _this_ quiet, more like a statue than a living, breathing being. He couldn’t make sense of it, couldn’t even fathom what would happen next.

 

Yondu was the first to move, jaw working silently for a second before, “Ya done?”

 _Done?…oh_. Peter blinked, reaching up to rub roughly at his eyes, catching the last stray tears that wanted to fall, and thought again, now with hot embarrassment, _Oh!_

“Ye-…,” his voice broke, squeaky and raw, and Peter clamped his mouth shut again, nodding instead. “M-hm.”

 

For a moment, just a blink, Peter thought he _saw_ something, just a flash through the red of Yondu’s eyes – something far, far softer than anger or annoyance, something that could have been understanding, or relief…

 

_No, that can’t be._

 

One of the strong thighs beneath Peter twitched, emphasizing Yondu’s next command even more. “Ger’ off. “

Peter scrambled to comply, sliding and hopping off his seat as fast as he could, almost falling flat on his face as he stumbled over his own feet while landing.

A hand grabbed him by his collar, holding him until he got his feet back under himself and could stand alone. Then Yondu let go, so abruptly that Peter almost could pretend the helping hand hadn’t been there at all.

 

Instead, Yondu came to his feet himself, momentarily pausing and cursing under his breath, gingerly shaking out one of his legs that apparently had fallen asleep at some point.

 

The fact that the limb had fallen asleep indicated that Peter had spent quite some time sitting on the Captain’s lap, bawling his eyes out. The mere thought was enough to have the boy blush up to the tip of his ears, drawing his head between his shoulders and staring to the ground. Everything was better than seeing the mockery or annoyance spread out over Yondu’s expression.

 

There was a whistle, the tell-tale sound of the arrow finding back into its holster again. Then something bumped against Peter’s head, not enough to hurt, but enough to make him understand that he should look up.

 

Yondu was holding his Walkman out to him as he looked up.

 

Cold shock surged through Peter as it dawned on him that he had no idea when or where Yondu had gotten hold of it. Last time he had seen the Walkman, it had been safely tucked in the pocket of his jacket.

 

Instinctively, Peter’s hand twitched upwards, ready to all but rip the beloved gadget from the blue fingers and hold onto it like one would hold on to a lifeline… but then he stopped, hands falling back uselessly to his sides as he remembered.

 

Yondu’s eyebrows arched upwards, a short show of real confusion. They both knew that Peter would have fought tooth and nail for that Walkman under any other circumstances.

 

“Wha’s the matter, boy?” Yondu’s voice was only just short of extremely annoyed.

“The batteries are empty,” Peter mumbled, gnawing his bottom lip the next moment. Perhaps that hadn’t been the smartest thing to say – whining once again after he had already cried like a little child. But it was the truth, and he would have to mention it sooner or later, anyway.

 

Yondu regarded him for a moment before he pulled the Walkman back. He seemed to pause, to consider, before he hooked the device into one of his belt’s loops, making sure that it stayed there, the headphones stuffed into his pants pocket.

Only then did he reach out again, grabbing Peter by his shoulder. The grip was firm, but not painful and far from bruising.

Peter didn’t protest as Yondu pushed him forward once, telling him non-verbally to start walking.

 

He walked, led by the Captain, to what he assumed was the ship… was home. He didn’t even have the energy to ask, or to insist that he could walk himself, thank you very much.

To be quite honest, Peter felt as if he would keel over if Yondu let go now. Weird as it may be, but only the firm hold on his shoulder was what kept him going right then and there. Otherwise he probably would have sat down on the ground where he had been standing, curled himself into a ball and never moved again.

 

And as if Yondu had read those thoughts, he never pulled away. His hand was a steady, heavy presence on Peter’s shoulder as they walked, holding the boy in place as if he could get lost otherwise.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ G ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Capt’n and Pete are back!”

 

Peter secretly whipped his sleeve over his face once more, hoping to somehow get rid of the last tearstains there as they approached the M-Ship.

 

If Kraglin and Tullk noticed, they were either nice enough not to or didn’t dare to say something. Kraglin simply nodded in their direction, smile crooked and thin but honest, before he went inside to get the ship started.

Tullk and Horuz lingered in the open door, the former smiling down at Peter as they came closer, the later looking rather displeased.

 

No wonder, Peter thought with a little grimace. Judging by their reactions and the fact that _Yondu himself_ had come look for him, the deal had been over for quite some time, and Peter had held them up unnecessarily. It was a miracle that neither Yondu nor Kraglin nor Tullk seemed impatient or annoyed by that – Horuz’s reaction was actually the most normal out of all of them in Peter’s eyes.

 

Perhaps the deal had gone particularly well and put the men in a good mood? It was the only way Peter could explain that he hadn’t been yelled at or threatened yet.

 

“Kid’s music box’s empty,” Yondu growled as they walked up the ramp together. He pushed the silent Walkman against Tullk’s chest, giving Peter an almost careful pat to the back so that the boy got the message and walked over to Tullk. “See that ya can fix that. Boy stays with ya ‘til ya figure it out.”

“Sure, Capt’n!”

 

Peter expected Yondu to level him with a sharp glare, to tell him to stay put this time, to not cause trouble again, to stay at Tullk’s side … but it never came. Once Yondu had given the order, he turned, following Kraglin to the cockpit. He didn’t spare Peter a second glance, let alone a sharp word.

 

Something about that seemed off, and Peter was pretty sure that he had gotten away _far_ too easily here.

The quick, astonished gaze from Horuz, wandering from Yondu to Peter and back, only served to prove that.

 

“Com’ on, Petey,” Tullk’s massive hand landed on Peter’s shoulder, gently shaking him from his perplexed, jumbled thoughts. “I think we still got some spare batteries somewhere ‘round ‘ere.”

That helped to perk Peter up a tiny bit, and he managed to smile weakly back at Tullk when the man grinned down at him.

Not that he would have protested, anyway – not when it was very clear that Yondu had just silently assigned Tullk to babysitter-duty again. Probably to ensure that their thief wouldn’t get lost twice in one day.

 

They walked down the short hallway towards the storage area with Peter unusually quiet, lost in thought. He felt empty and tired, part of him wanting to curl up and sleep for hours, the other, larger part feeling too nervous and skittish to do so.

 

“…an’ after, ye can help me count the payment. Ye know I always mess up with high numbers, yer way better at that than ol’ me,” Tullk was still talking as they reached the storage room, talking as if to fill the silence between them. Something _Peter_ would have usually done, but the boy didn’t even feel like teasing the man about his problems with counting.

 

“Okay,” Peter mumbled instead, rubbing his still burning eyes.

The fingers on his shoulder twitched as Tullk trailed off. Peter didn’t even have to look up to know that the man was frowning down at him.

 _Probably annoyed by crying children,_ Peter thought bitterly, already feeling his bottom lip wobble again slightly _._

Ravagers never cried. They seeing him like this now probably would get him in a hell load of trouble. It had taken weeks and months, fist-fights and biting icky grimy hands and Yondu’s threats to get the crew to respect the scrawny Terran at least a bit… now he would have to start all over again…

 

Peter jolted in surprise when Tullk suddenly reached over to ruffle his hair almost gently, chuckling quietly all the while.

“Aw, Pete. Heads up, ye’ll feel lotta better once we get yer music thingy workin’ ‘gain.”

 

Patting his hair back down, Peter smiled a bit more honestly this time.

Perhaps crying in front of the others… or at least _certain_ others… wasn’t even that bad. “Thanks, Tullk.”

Tullk grinned, all crooked yellow teeth and honest relief. “Not that fer, kiddo. Now com’ on, let’s take a look for those batteries.”

“Okay.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ G ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Not too long after that, Peter had to agree with Tullk. Equipped with a once again working Walkman, _Come and get your love_ blasting at full power over his headphones, and after being handed some snacks and laughing at the man’s antics over miscounting the payment on purpose so that the little Terran could get it right, Peter already felt a whole lot better than before.

 

Still tired, still a good deal embarrassed over what had transpired (Yondu would _so_ make fun of him), but loads better.

 

Humming the familiar tune under his breath, shoulders and hips moving in half-dancing moves as he walked, Peter made his way towards the cockpit of the flying M-ship. Better face Yondu now and get the lecture about “ _Ravagers don’ show no sentiments, boy, learn that already”_ over with before they reached the _Eclector_ again.

 

It was probably Peter’s luck that the song ended just before he reached the cockpit, else he wouldn’t have heard the argument coming from inside.

 

Slowing his steps, Peter frowned, turning his Walkman off and slipping the headphones down to dangle around his neck. Someone had forgotten to close the cockpit’s door completely, light and noise trickling through the gap.

 

“…delivered ‘im, ‘s what we _shoulda_ done!”

 

Peter instinctively changed plans and ducked in the shadows to the left of the door, pressing his back against the wall. Forgotten was that he had wanted to go see Yondu. He felt as if he would get into serious trouble if he walked into the cockpit now. More trouble than he was already in, anyway.

 

If Yondu had answered anything, then Peter hadn’t heard it. Horuz was still going on about… well, Peter was sure that that conversation was about _him._

It wasn’t the first time he had heard crewmates question the fact that he, a little Terran, was still part of the crew. Sometimes, even Peter himself wondered why Yondu went through all that trouble.

But still, hearing things like this didn’t feel _good_. Not at all.

 

It made him wonder if Yondu wouldn’t change his mind someday, and decide that he wasn’t worth it.

The thought sent an icy feeling down Peter’s spine, and he shook his head, deciding to rather listen to the argument again than think about such things.

“Boy is more trouble than ‘e’s ever gonna be worth!”

“An’ ya think yer the one to decide that, is that it?” Yondu somehow managed to sound _dangerously_ calm, something that Peter always secretly admired a bit. “Questionin’ my decisions now, Horuz?”

“Capt’n – _everybody_ can see that yer bein’ soft on the boy! The men are startin’ to talk already-…!”

“Give ‘em more work then. They ain’t got ‘nough if they can still chatter that much.”

 

“An’ _‘im?”_ Horuz voice was barely more than a hiss now, trembling with anger. “’e rans off, ye let it happen. Ye go _after_ ‘im, even. Men start talkin’ ‘cuz of ‘im, ye _still_ let it happen. Yer riskin’ a mutiny every day ye keep ‘im, an’ ye know it. The boy ain’t worth that much, Yondu!”

“ _Careful,_ Horuz.”

“He ain’t worth _anythin’,_ by the stars! _He is cargo!”_

Everything in the cockpit seemed to happen very fast after that.

 

A single whistle rang out, and even though Peter was outside of the room and not the victim of the dangerous arrow, he still instinctively held his breath, knowing very well that another whistle could end a life right now.

 

Judging by the choked gasp Horuz released in the cockpit right at the same moment, he knew that, too.

 

There was a long, tense pause, crackling with energy, and Peter reacted too late to stifle the shocked gasp that escaped him, the sound ringing in the silence like a shot.

 

Yondu surely wouldn’t… he wouldn’t…?

Sure, Yondu killed, Peter knew, had seen him do so, but… one of them?

 

Another whistle, and something heavy slumped to the ground with a _thump._ Fast, hectic gasps followed, sounding very close to a relieved sob.

“Out,” Yondu didn’t speak very loudly, didn’t need to. “ _Now_.”

 

Peter ducked deeper into the shadows as the door flew open completely and Horuz stormed out into the hallway.

 

It was questionable if Horuz even would have noticed him, hiding or not, since the man walked only just slow enough to _almost_ make it seem as if he wasn’t running away in utter panic. He had one hand raised to his throat as he went, head down to protect a tender spot.

 

But even with that and in the dim light of the M-Ship, Peter still caught a glimpse of the trickle of blood trailing down Horuz’ throat where the Yaka arrow had bitten into skin.

 

Whatever had put Yondu in such a fool mood, it had been enough to almost cost Horuz’s life, just because the Ravager had questioned Yondu’s decision.

 

Peter grimaced slightly, wondering if he even should go into the cockpit now. When Yondu was in the mood to get angry over something as simple as someone calling Peter _cargo_ , then he must have been _really_ angry. Perhaps it would be better if Peter just…

 

“Quill! Get’cha ass in ‘ere, boy!”

 

Peter jerked, mind racing as he wondered if Yondu had caught him listening in when he shouldn’t have.

He contemplated running away for a split-second, only to discard the idea again. He couldn’t avoid Yondu forever, and running and hiding when he was summoned would only make the punishment all the harsher afterwards.

 

“I _know_ yer there, Quill!”

 

A lot, lot harsher.

 

Deciding that he would just have to endure whatever was to come, Peter took a deep breath, steeling himself and squaring his shoulders. When he was sure that he looked not nearly as nervous as he felt, he walked into the cockpit, holding himself as straight as he could.

 

Kraglin was standing slightly behind the pilot’s seat, managing a map that he had pulled up on a holoscreen at the wall. When he saw Peter slipping into the room, he glanced over, showing a crooked smile.

 

Peter tried to smile back, but couldn’t really manage it. Kraglin being here and smiling was probably a good sign, but he still wasn’t convinced that Yondu wasn’t going to very literally kick his ass.

 

Kraglin’s brow shot up, confusion flashing over his expression, before he frowned ever so slightly. Glancing over quickly to the pilot’s seat, he looked back at Peter, then nodded, just a tiny gesture, as if to say _It’s okay._

That probably should have been reassuring… but it wasn’t. It really, really wasn’t. But there was nothing he could do about that, so Peter lifted his chin even higher and made his way over to the pilot’s seat.

 

Yondu was all but sprawled out in the seat, legs outstretched and seatbelt not in place. He was using the ship’s autopilot to hold them on course towards the _Eclector_ while he fiddled around with the colorful array of trinkets on his armrest.

 

When Peter stopped next to the seat, Yondu grunted something that could have been an acknowledgement of the boy’s presence and pushed himself up a tad, flinging his arm over the armrest close to the boy.

 

Chin propped onto his hand, Yondu gazed down at him. Red eyes scanned Peter’s face, lingering long enough on the still visible lines the tears had left on his cheeks to make the boy uncomfortable and wanting to hide.

 

Just before he could do so, Yondu’s gaze snapped towards his, trapping it, holding him in place.

There was no anger in Yondu’s voice as he spoke, but real interest, and an underlying warning, “How much did ya hear?”

 

So he had known that Peter was listening in.

 

Peter’s mind worked very quickly through his options – he could tell the truth that had heard a good part, but wasn’t sure how to interpret it, or he could lie and say that he hadn’t heard anything but that wouldn’t work and could get him into trouble, so…

 

“Not much.”

 

It took him quite a bit of willpower to not make it sound like a question. _Don’cha ever let ‘em see when yer insecure,_ that was one of the first things Yondu had taught him, and he had understood that. But _understanding_ and _doing so_ were two completely different things.

Still, Peter lifted his chin, holding the red gaze boring into his own, and did his very best not to waver.

 

Something flashed through Yondu’s eyes then, breaking the steely and unreadable gaze, but again, for the second time that evening, it was gone too quickly for Peter to catch it.

 

(If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought it was something like the amused pride Mum sometimes had showed… but he _did_ know better. Little things like this, if anything at all, would never make Yondu feel something akin like Mum felt towards him.)

 

They stayed like this for a moment, gazes locked – Yondu’s unreadable, Peter’s filled with determination. He was not going to break in front of the man. One time was more than enough.

 

Then Yondu nodded, slowly, apparently coming to a conclusion of some sorts.

Peter almost dared to relax when Yondu looked away, thinking that he had gotten away easily (again) this time. Now a quick lecture about showing sentiments, and he could leave again…

 

“Up.”

Realizing that he had been given a command, Peter blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. “Uh, what?”

“Up,” Yondu repeated, sharper, nodding towards his own lap. He was strapping the seatbelt over his own chest with a quick motion while he said it, adjusting himself until he sat straight in the seat like he was supposed to.

 

Peter stood, flabbergasted, and gaped at the man, believing that Yondu would call it a joke and start barking at him for falling for it as soon as he moved to comply.

This _had_ to be a trap. Yondu couldn’t seriously mean that Peter should sit in his lap, right? He wouldn’t fall for it. _Shouldn’t_ fall for it.

 

But Yondu seemed to get impatient with him, red eyes squinting at him while his brows furrowed.

It was that expression the Captain always got just before getting angry and starting to whistle, and Peter knew better than to wait any longer. He all but jumped forward, hosting himself up to sit between Yondu’s knees.

There he stayed, waiting for what was to come.

 

Peter almost bristled when Yondu’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer until he could feel the buckle of the seatbelt dig into his back. But he relaxed again when he realized that Yondu was just holding him steady since there would be no seatbelt for Peter.

 

“Tell me, Quill,” Yondu sounded calm, and _that_ was just weird, since he hadn’t been calm before with Horuz, and Peter still half-expected to get lectured any moment. “What do ya know about flyin’ a ship?”

 

The _nothing_ was on the tip of his tongue, but Peter swallowed it down again. It would only make Yondu more impatient, since that would make him appear useless again.

Instead he let his gaze wander over the panel and the levers and buttons in front of them. He didn’t know a lot, but he knew _some_ things, and perhaps, that would count as _something_.

 

Reaching out, Peter grabbed the control stick on the left armrest. “Um… with this, you steer.”

There was a puff of air against his neck, almost like a silent snort, but Yondu didn’t correct him or sound annoyed, so Peter felt bold enough to keep going.

Next was the lever on the right side. He gripped it although he had to lean forward to it, and tried to remember what it was for. “That’s the, uh, gear-thingy? You can go faster with that. Or slower. I think. And…”

“Yeah?”

 

“… I don’t know the rest,” Peter confessed after a nervous pause. There was a holoscreen in between the two levers and an array of buttons on the armrests – not to mention Yondu’s trinkets, not that those were important for flight – but for what purpose those things were, Peter had no clue.

“Well, ‘s better than nothin’,” Yondu shifted, his bigger hands coming to rest over Peter’s.

The boy almost jolted but suppressed it. Up until now, Yondu had been surprisingly calm about the whole ordeal, so he felt like he could relax a bit.

 

Perhaps Yondu felt the tension leave the boy and appreciated it. Perhaps he wanted to make sure that Peter understood that he was supposed to keep his hands on the controls. Either way, the rough fingers squeezed around Peter’s for a second.

It didn’t last long and Yondu already continued as Peter’s mind caught up on the tiny gesture.

 

“Ya ain’t completely wrong, Quill. Ya steer ‘ere,” the ship’s prow swiveled ever so slightly to the left as Yondu directed it that way, “an’ changin’ the gear makes ya go faster or slower. _Don’_ go faster ‘til I tell ya so! Ain’t gonna ever let ya try to fly again if ya go faster and smash us all ‘gainst a rock, ya hear?”

 

With that, Yondu pulled back, hands leaving Peter’s and instead wrapping his arms around the boy’s chest again, holding him steady. “Ya got all that?”

“Yeah, but…” Peter blinked, trying to make sense of the situation. He hadn’t been yelled at. He hadn’t been lectured. In fact, Yondu had positioned him in the pilot’s seat and actually _explained_ something for once, instead of just throwing him into a situation and letting him deal with it alone.

 

And it all looked as if…

 

“You’re… you’re letting _me_ fly?” Peter couldn’t help the stutter, and the utter disbelieve seeping into his words.

 

It wasn’t like he didn’t want to fly a ship, by the stars, he _did…_ but every time he had come even remotely close to one of the M-Ships and tried to sneak in position in the pilot’s seat, Yondu had found him at the speed of light, pulling him out of the ship by his ear and cuffing him over the head before chasing him off with a bellowed _“Ya try that ‘gain an’ yer_ dinner, _Quill!”_

 

Part of Peter was actually tempted to pinch himself, just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Or… was this another one of Yondu’s tricks? A trap, perhaps. But for what?

 

Yondu’s grip around his waist tightened minutely, just enough to get Peter’s attention. “Boy, if ya keep askin’ so stupid, I ain’t gonna _let’cha_ fly anymore. Geez.”

“I don’t want to ask stupid stuff, I just don’t get _why you would let me fly.”_

Sometimes, Peter was very close to believing that his big mouth would get him in trouble one day.

“’Cuz ya want to fly so badly. And flyin’ a damned ship is the only way I gonna let’cha do that.”

 

Before Peter could question that further, Yondu’s voice dropped as the man leaned over him, basically crowding him in. It made Peter stiffen and wanting to struggle, but then he realized that Yondu was only doing that to get close enough to whisper his next words inaudible for anyone else, the warning uttered in no more than a hiss with no real malice in it.

 

“No more stunts like back there on that swing, Quill, or so help me, I will eat’cha _myself.”_

 

Oh…

_Oh._

 

Peter gaped, searching for words but finding none. _That_ was the reason? But that still didn’t make sense, not really. He had messed up and could have gotten seriously hurt, yes, which probably would have led to trouble for Yondu, but… wasn’t teaching him how to fly less of a punishment and more of a reward?

 

_Why?_

 

“Boy, if ya don’t wanna learn, then get the fuck off of me now.”

 

That snapped Peter back to the present, and he struggled as Yondu made to lift him up and slide him off his lap again. “W-Wait! Wait, I want to learn! I want to… _oomph!_ ”

He almost smacked backwards against Yondu’s chest, hard, as the Captain just dropped him back onto his seat.

“Well, then get’cha hands back on the controls, boy, what’cha waitin’ for?”

 

Gripped by a sudden burst of excitement, now that he knew that this was, apparently, the real deal – he was going to learn how to _fly_ – Peter complied, gripping control stick and gear shift. He was all but bouncing up and down, unable to stop himself from grinning widely. “What do I do now? Where do I start?”

“Slow down, Quill, don’ want’cha to crash us all, remember?”

“I _won’t…”_

“No whinin’, boy, or I kick ya off,” despite saying that, Yondu shifted so that he was holding Peter only with one arm now, and reached forward to adjust the child’s grip on the control stick. “Hold it in the middle for now. Steady. I turn off the autopilot, ya _still_ hold it right in place ‘til I say otherwise.”

“Yessir!”

 

The autopilot turned off without so much as a sound, and for a moment, Peter felt his hand twitch, the first shock of feeling the ship shift slightly under and around him making him nervous. But he tightened his grip and took a deep breath, refusing to let go and ruin the lesson before it even started.

 

“Now push slightly forward. _Gently,”_ Yondu directed Peter’s hand with his own, only letting go when he was sure that the boy wouldn’t move too hasty. “Slightly forward of the control stick, without usin’ the gear shift, moves ya forward. Ya change gear, ya submerge or rise up before ya know it.”

“I don’t use the gear shift then?”

“Ain’t gonna need it this time ‘round, not as much. I’m gonna tell ya if ya do. For now, ya just worry ‘bout not crashing into any moons and suns on the way,” a pause, then Yondu’s grin was all but palpable in every syllable as he drawled, “Ya’ll be able to see _those_ I hope.”

 

Peter grimaced, making sure that he flashed the annoyed _You kidding me?_ look over his shoulder for Yondu to see before he turned back to the task he had been given. Carefully moving the control stick a tad to the left, then to the right, he started beaming as the ship followed the slightest touch.

 

“This is _easy!”_

“Don’t get too cocky now, Quill,” Yondu grumbled, but he didn’t end the sentence with a threat or with a snarl. So Peter concluded that he was actually doing something right and Yondu didn’t have a reason to protest.

 

Peter was so occupied with just holding the ship steady and on course, drinking in the sight of space they flew through, that he quickly forgot everything around himself. He instinctively did as Yondu told him, quick orders like _“Move it forward, just a tick”_ or _“Gently now, Quill”_ , but everything else became lost in the pulse of pure joy and excitement.

 

He didn’t even notice when Kraglin quietly left the cockpit. Neither did he notice the moment his eyes stopped burning with unshed tears, the unhappy frown from before more and more replaced with a beaming smile and twinkling eyes.

 

He was flying, really, _really_ flying a real _M-Ship,_ and that knowledge was enough to make Peter smile so widely it hurt.

 

Yondu’s forearms were a steady presence around Peter’s chest, grip tight but not painful, a bit like a makeshift-seatbelt. From time to time, Yondu huffed quietly when Peter would get particularly excited and start making “ _Nyoooom_ ” sounds to accompany the experience, but else he kept mostly quiet, letting Peter find his way.

 

“I’m _really_ flying.”

 

Perhaps it was silly to state that _after_ he had just carefully maneuvered the ship past Xandar’s smallest moon and the _Eclector_ came in sight before them, but Peter couldn’t help it. He felt that he had to point out the obvious, to see if the dreamlike scenario would pop like a bubble if he dared to mention it out loud.

 

It didn’t.

 

If anything, it only became more real, since Yondu’s cuffed him – lightly – over the head for the comment, the light pain real enough. “Ya say the stupidest stuff, Quill.”

Normally, Peter would have bristled at the hit, barked back or run from the Ravager, but he was in a way too good mood to run now. He only grinned wider, throwing his head back to look upside down at Yondu. “But I _am_ flying!”

“Look where yer goin’, kid,” a single finger tipped Peter’s head back forward, but he still didn’t mind, chattering away.

“If you let me fly, does that mean I can get my _own_ M-Ship one day?! Like the others?!”

 

Hoarse laughter burst out of Yondu, the sound rumbling in his chest and vibrating through Peter in the process. It wasn’t the laugh Peter was used to – Yondu’s usual laugh was between a mean snicker and an unholy glee, something that made one’s hair stand on end and everybody take cover, because something _bad_ was going to happen after that laugh had rang out.

This one, however, was rough and scratchy, as if it hadn’t been used for a long time, but it was somehow more real than the other.

Peter wouldn’t have minded if he got to hear this laugh more often than the other one.

 

“Boy,” Yondu’s voice and the movement that went through both of them indicated that he was shaking his head in disbelief. “Ya fly once an’ in a straight line, an’ ya already wanna have yer own ship. Yer movin’ too hasty ‘gain.”

“But I’m doing _good,”_ feeling emboldened by the laugh, Peter insisted. “You only got to correct me a few times. So I’m doing good!”

 

There was a pause in which the boy wasn’t sure if he had overdone it now, before Yondu huffed. “No ship for ya right now. I ain’t taught ya nothin’ yet. Ya keep practicin’, take lessons from Kraglin an’ Tullk… do a few jobs right… _then_ I’ll think about a ship for ya. Perhaps. Don’ expect to get one ‘til, like, a year _at least._ An’ even then ya won’t fly alone ‘til I say so.”

“Are you for _real?! You’re giving me one?!”_

“I just _said_ that, use yer damn ears. An’, one thing - ya crash the fuckin’ thing _once_ an’ cost me precious money, I will let the boys eat’cha for _real,_ ya got tha-…?”

“I’m getting my own ship, why should I crash it?!” Peter threw his arms up into the air, controls forgotten, _flying_ forgotten as he cheered loudly, “Heck yeah, I get a ship!”

“Quill, hands on the-…!”

Too late.

 

The ship dropped abruptly as there was no one controlling it anymore, neither autopilot nor pilot. It all tipped sideways, everything tilting and sliding away to the left for a horrifying second.

A shout rang out, something smacked loudly against the walls somewhere down the hallway, and loud cursing rang through the ship, Tullk’s voice audible even from all the way back from the ship’s rear end.

 

“By the _fuckin’ stars…!_ QUILL!”

“Sorry! _I’m sorry…!”_ the sudden shift had made Peter’s stomach lurch about uncomfortably, and his panicked grabs for the controls had missed both control stick and gear shift.

 

Before anything serious could happen, Yondu was there, catching both levers with an easy, practiced motion and bringing the ship back to a horizontal position with nothing more than a flick of his wrist.

 

Everyone breathed easily again once they were back on course and in the position they should be.

 

Peter gulped, drawing up his shoulders as he peered backwards, offering a meek, “I’m sorry.”

Yondu’s gaze flicked down from where he had been staring intently out the windshield, meeting Peter’s.

 

After a second, something like a crooked smile flitted over the man’s face, and he huffed. “Ain’t like I didn’t see that comin’."

"...Oh."

"Everybody fucks up the first time. Flying' ain't _easy_ , Quill."

"Hm," Peter wasn't happy with that statement, since he had thought he was doing quite _amazingly_ well, thank you very much, but...

"Stop yer sulkin'," Yondu grumbled as if he had read his mind. "Fuckin' up ain’t that bad as long as I‘m ‘ere.”

“…Yeah?”

“Yeah,” a pause, then Yondu added quieter, gaze already shifting back to the window before Peter could catch it, “I got’cha, Quill.”

 

And it was then and there that Peter finally, finally accepted that this was no trap. This wasn’t a joke, or a cruel way of giving him hope and then crashing it again with a few chosen actions. There was no catch to this, no tripping stone.

 

Yondu was seriously trying to teach him something, just _because._ And he thought that Peter actually could _learn._

_I will show him!_ The thought came surprisingly, but it was there, loud and clear. _I will show him that I can do it right!_

 

The same excitement from before flooded through Peter, only strengthened by his sudden wish to prove himself in front of Yondu.

 

He basically pushed Yondu’s hands away from the controls in his eagerness to take the wheel again, but he paid it no mind, announcing, “Let me try again!”

Another bout of laughter shook him through, but Yondu actually moved his hands out of the way to let Peter fly alone again, not even protesting that the boy all put pushed him away. “Keep yer hands where they’re supposed to be this time ‘round.”

“Don’t worry!”

“I’ll keepin’ worryin’ ‘til we land safely on the Eclector ‘gain.”

 

The notion alone made Peter suck in a sharp breath before he all but burst out, “Oh, oh, let me park it! Yeah?!”

“Boy, ya almost got us all killed right now. I ain’t gonna let ya land this friggin’ ship. That’s a move for a pro.”

“I can do it! I know I can!”

“Right, right, ‘cuz ya can do _everythin’…”_

“Yondu, I can do it! Let me _try!”_

Peter didn’t dare to let go off the controls again or to look back to catch Yondu’s reaction to his bold declaration. But something about the way the chest behind him rose, a deep breath being sucked in, before Yondu sighed – really _sighed –_ somehow told Peter that he had won the argument.

 

“Boy, one _dent_ in ma ship an’ we’ve a problem with each other, ya get that?”

 

That was a threat, but not as bad as the usual ones, so Peter beamed, face hurting from smiling so much, and gave back a cheeky, “Sir, yessir!”

 

He was pretty sure he heard something along the lines of _“’M gonna regret this”,_ mumbled against his neck in a rush of warm breath that tickled, but Peter didn’t mind or let himself be encouraged by that.

 

If anything, it just made him grin more.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ G ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Okay, well, perhaps the landing did not go _that_ smoothly, a bit rocky and wobbly especially in the end. And perhaps it only went without a dent in the ship because Yondu was there to help in time, taking over before Peter could oversteer and fling them against the wall of the decks.

 

But they _did_ land and the ship _did_ _not_ have a single scratch, and Peter had had his hands on the controls the whole time, so he just went ahead and counted that as a success in every sense of the word.

 

When he declared as such once they had landed and the engines were turned off, stuttering quietly off to fall silent completely, Yondu only gave him a _look,_ that mixture of _Seriously?_ and _Yeah sure_ that Peter always tried to imitate but never quite got the hang off.

 

But Peter didn’t mind, slipping off Yondu’s lap as the Captain told him to do so, already darting towards the door. He could barely wait to get off the ship - he _had_ to tell Oblo and the others that he could fly now. They would be so surprised! He was one of the youngest pilots ever for _sure!_

Only a step away from the door, he stopped.

It didn’t feel quite right to just run off.

 

Peter glanced over at Yondu, who was standing up but lingering by the pilot’s seat, playing idly with one of the many trinkets. His back was turned towards the child, making it impossible to see his expression and gauge what he was so lost in thought about.

 

He would probably get in trouble for this, but… Mum had always taught him to mind his manners, and Peter felt that this, now, was one of these times where he should do that.

 

“Yondu?”

“Mh?” Yondu tilted his head to the side, not really turning towards Peter, but enough to make it clear that the boy had his attention. One eyebrow rose, a silent question and a nudge to go on at the same time.

 

Peter hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. Making it complicated and emotional would set Yondu off, seeing as he didn’t like sentiments and all that came with it, so… the direct way it was.

 

Taking a deep breath, Peter burst out, “Thank you. For… you know, just, thank you.”

 

He didn’t wait to see how Yondu would react to that – didn’t stay to see if it would lead to another lecture about sentiments being a weakness and thanks being a show of sentiments and, and, and. He ripped the door open and rushed out into the hallway, straight towards the open lock that would lead outside.

 

Kraglin had to step aside as Peter almost run into him in his hurry to get to the door, hand darting out to grasp the running child by the scruff of his neck to ensure he wouldn’t stumble and fall the next second. “Pete, slow down, yer faster than a friggin’ shootin’ star.”

“Hey Kraggles!”

“An’ don’t call me that, geez.”

 

Peter beamed up at him, full-on cheeky grin and twinkling eyes as he pleaded, “Lemme go see the others, pleeeease?”

What would have worked with Tullk didn’t work with Kraglin – he was less easily convinced by big wide pleading eyes, most of the time, at least. He rolled his eyes at Peter’s try to be charming, dropping him to his feet again. “See if ye can help Tullk with unloadin’ or somethin’ first.”

“And then I can go, right?”

“Right…”

“I’m off, I’m helping, bye bye!”

Kraglin huffed after the ball of energy as Peter darted off, the boy already hollering for Tullk to see if there was anything to help with.

 

There wasn’t, since Tullk insisted he could deal with it alone. Peter barely resisted the urge to instantly dart for the door again, eager to tell every one of his accomplishments, and instead waited for the good to go.

If the little pat on the back that Kraglin gave him in passing was any indication, then the show of patience was appreciated.

 

He made sure to stay close to Kraglin, ready to bolt as soon as he got the okay, and simultaneously tried to steer clear of Horuz. The man was subdued, but brooding, and even though Peter probably should have been glad that Yondu had not listened to what Horuz had said, he still felt a pang of guilt whenever his gaze landed on the red scratch on Horuz’s throat.

 

He hadn’t wanted that, never meant for anyone to get hurt over him.

 

But something told him that Horuz wouldn’t be happy about it when he said anything about the incident, so Peter kept quiet and started avoiding the man rather than further think about it.

 

Peter waited patiently – or as patient as a bouncing and excited eight-year-old could be – until Kraglin said that he could go ahead, they would take care of the rest.

 

Taking a deep breath, Peter took off at the speed of a rocket, running out the lock and down the ramp and through the large hall right towards the crewmates he spotted at the other end. Picking up even more speed, aiming for the one familiar face in the group, Peter started grinning from ear to ear.

 

Tullk heaved a box out of the ship and let it drop to the ground with a _bang,_ already turning to get the next one.

He stopped short when he came face to face with Yondu, the Captain exiting the ship just then.

 

Tullk hesitated, then smiled crookedly at his boss, picking up his work where he had left off. “Pete seems to feel better ‘gain, Capt’n.”

 

He half expected to get whistled at for that – he was sure that Yondu had caught the meaning behind that, the tiny hint that it could _interest_ him how Peter felt.

But it didn’t come, and Tullk dared to keep breathing steadily as the red gaze wandered over to him, Yondu answering very slowly and deliberately, “Well, ‘is music box’s workin’ ‘gain.”

“Ah, sure. Think the flyin’ lesson was a good idea, too.”

 

Another beat passed, the men looking at each other, and still there was no whistling. That was almost as good of a sign as the next sentence.

 

“Ya wanna help with a few flyin’ lessons, Tullk?”

A real, heartfelt smile bloomed on Tullk’s face then and there. “Sure, Capt’n. Will be a blast, ‘m sure!”

 

“Ye won’t think it’s a blast when Pete crashes the first time,” Kraglin tossed in, appearing right beside Yondu as if he had materialized out of thin air.

He only elicited a loud bark of laughter from Tullk with that. “Lookin’ forward to it. Ain’t gonna be borin’, that’s for damn sure.”

“No, ain’t gonna be,” Yondu agreed almost absentmindedly, pulling out a datapad and switching through a few screens.

 

“OBLO! GUESS WHAT HAPPENED!”

 

The little group of men turned at the shout that echoed over to them, a mixture of amused, irritated and fond gazes looking after the energetic child.

 

They could very well see from their spot how Peter all but smacked face-first into Oblo’s chest, the Krylorian just barely managing to catch the running child as it jumped at him. His fellow crewmates weren’t a real help as they ducked out of the way, leaving poor Oblo to his fate.

 

“Watch out, crazed Terran on the loose!”

The late warning was met with multiple bouts of laughter, the exclamation well-known already.

 

“Pete!” Oblo sounded as if he wasn’t sure if he should be confused or worried over the babbling little Terran in his arms. “Slow down, Pete, what happened?!”

“I can fly, I can fly now!”

“What?! Ye pullin’ mah leg ‘gain or…?”

“NO! Dude, I can fly a ship! I can _fly!”_

 

“Pete ain’t gonna shut up ‘bout that any time soon,” Kraglin noted as he followed down the ramp behind Yondu. Tullk laughed and agreed, while Horuz grumbled something under his breath.

 

Yondu made an affirmative sound in the back of his throat, somewhere between a whistle and a hum, as he pretended to be occupied with something on his datapad.

 

If anybody expected him to get annoyed at Peter’s excitement, then they were wrong. This one time, he would overlook it with a silent, secretive little smile - and a whistle if anybody dared to question him or his decision to teach the boy.

 

There were worse things than dreams of flying, after all.

 

And if the only way to ensure that Peter would never crash was to teach him how to fly, then Yondu would _personally_ give the boy the wings he needed.

**Author's Note:**

> More fluff in the next chapter, promise!


End file.
